


Prepare for the Best and the Fastest Ride

by its_marchie



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Gen, Gratuitous amounts of Latin, In which Harry Potter spells and references are used, Multi, i intend to make like steven moffat and KILL OFF UR FAVE CHARACTER(S), implied bromance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:18:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_marchie/pseuds/its_marchie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan Toews didn't know what would happen when he met Patrick Kane. He sure as hell didn't expect to be thrown into a world of magic.</p><p>At least it would be fun...right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something I Can’t Get My Head Around (Patrick and Jonny)

**Author's Note:**

> This all started because I was listening to a shitload of Angels & Airwaves albums and movie soundtracks. I know there are Hockey/HP AU stories but I got to thinking what wizards and witches are like outside of finishing school? It's kind of like a magical hockey Breakfast Club. I don't know, let's see what happens. Updates aren't scheduled and you can usually guess how much coursework I have judging by the update day.  
> Rated mature for language, depictions of violence and blood, and some major character deaths. 
> 
> I don't give two fucks if you found this by Googling yourself/a teammate/brother/friend/Great Aunt Tilly's favourite grandnephew. You get to read about yourself...being a wizard! How cool is that?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan Toews isn't sure if the boy he saw was a hallucination or a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, here we go. The first of many chapters. No, I have never seen Cabin in the Woods.
> 
> Title of chapter from "Good Day" by Angels & Airwaves.

_Present_

          “What?” Jonny whispered in disbelief. How the HELL was this even possible? He’d seen this kind of thing in Harry Potter movies or David Copperfield TV specials, but never in all of his life did Jonny think it could all be done.

“C’mon man, the guys are gonna fly without us if you don’t hurry the fuck up,” Patrick smiled as he stretched his hand out to Jonny, whose feet were planted firmly on the sidewalk.

“You want...me..to..?”

“Oh my God, I am going to fucking LEAVE you here,” Patrick crossed his arms impatiently and glared at Jonny. He gave Patrick another hesitant look, sighed, and grabbed his forearm to lift himself onto the broom, straddling the ash broomstick and grabbing onto Patrick’s sweatshirt.

“Hold on tight, Tazer,” Patrick called over his shoulder as he kicked off and ascended into the clear night sky.

_September_

 Jonathan Toews’ semester was pretty jammed, divided (miraculously) between tutoring some poor little freshman in classical literature, partying (of course, because he’s not a fucking borer like his ENTIRE team thought), and being assistant captain of the school hockey team. But he was organised. For the most part.

“Duuude, are you gonna come to Smitty and Drew’s party tonight? ‘S gonna be rad,” Tazer’s friend TJ asked as he spread out his economics coursework on the floor of his apartment.

“Er, I’ll try, but I’ve gotta study for this fucking economics exam,” Jonny carded his fingers through his short hair.

“Dude, it’s just one night! Live a little!”

“I need to do well so I can “live a little” with a good job.” Seriously. Was Oshie really that unconcerned with his fucking future?

“Jonnyyyyyyyy,” TJ whined and squirmed like a four year-old. Tazer must’ve been fed up with his bullshit because he eventually let out an exasperated sigh.

“Ugh, fine. I’ll study tomorrow, asshole. But I’m not gonna bother driving you home if you’re passed out. I’ll drag you by your fucking ankles,” Jonny shoved his study notes into a binder and tossed it on his bed.

          Jonny’s life until that party had been relatively consistent. Everything was in balance and organised and...normal. He had the life that a lot of guys on his team wish they could manage, with good grades coinciding with practice and all-night keggers. But that night, on the lawn of the Gamma Beta frat house, his balanced life as a college junior was about to take an unexpected turn. He wasn't sure exactly how drunk he was; considering he could still see his feet, Jonny chalked it up as a non blacked-out win. The basement of GB was crowded to say the least; TJ had some tiny brunette shoved up against the wall, her legs wrapping around his waist as they made out, while Blake and Drew were shotgunning Moulsons by the second with a bunch of other guys.

“BRO! Wassuuuup!” TJ slurred as he stumbled away from the girl and over to Tazer, a Solo Cup (it was so dark and so mixed that Jonny couldn’t tell what the concoction in it even was) in his hand.

“Broshie, what the fuck is even IN that?” Jonny motioned to the plastic cup in Oshie’s hand.

“Er,” he hiccuped, “no clue. Where you goin’?”

“Outside.”

The heavy bassline of the music in the house faded as Jonny shuffled out to the lawn, where various cigarette butts and discarded bottles were scattered among the dewey blades of grass. The night sky was clear, stars glimmering in the inky blackness. Everything was quiet and- _THUD_.

Something heavy slammed against the ground behind a group of shrubs. Jonny panicked for a moment; he had watched _Cabin in the Woods_ with a bunch of teammates a week or so ago and was now concerned that a fucking zombie was trying to lure him into the darkness and devour him. Whatever alcohol he had in his bloodstream now seemed to dissipate and he suddenly felt as sober as a damn priest.

“Motherfucker- I swear to God if I see Sharpy again, I’ll push him off his-” the creature behind the shrubbery muttered. Jonny breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he realised with an inner facepalm that the thing he couldn’t see was an actual person, not a fucking serial killer. As he watched the greenery shake, a blond man that looked about his age stumbled out of the dark, leaves clinging to his curls and a broom in his hand- a _broom_?! Tazer wasn’t quite sure if it was the game of Battleshots or beer pong that had him hallucinating, but something pushed him to step closer to this guy who, until two minutes ago, he didn’t know existed.

“Uh…” Jonny said, trying and failing at trying to sound somewhat intelligent.

“Hey. Where the fuck am I?” the stranger shook the foliage from his hair and dusted off his knees.

“A lawn.”

“Thank you, Captain fucking Obvious."

“Oh, uh, this is North Dakota. Um, University of. Yeah.”

“Fucking hell, I told Sharpy to stay in Illinois!” the other man mumbled with an impressive eye roll.

“Told who?”

“Never mind it. I need to leave.”

"I haven’t seen you anywhere on campus. Are you a transfer? Freshman?”

“I don’t live here, first off. And second, I’m a sophomore, thank you very fucking much.”

“Really? ‘Cause you look like a high schooler.”

The blond huffed angrily and started stomping across the yard toward the pale yellow street light.

“Oh, c’mon man, I’m sorry! Look, I don’t even know your name!” Jonny yelled as he jogged to catch up with the sophomore. The man just stuck his middle finger and turned the corner. When Jonny finally thought he caught up, he turned and saw... nothing. The entire street was deserted. Now Jonny was really starting to lose it. He ran two blocks on either side of the frat house, hoping he could find out who the fuck that kid was or where he went because Jonny figured that he was no more than twenty steps behind him the entire time. How could he disappear just like that? He spent a few more hours searching before the first hint of dawn light coloured the horizon. Jonny knew he had class today and it might do well to get at least a couple of hours of rest; too tired to drive, he called a cab and headed back to his apartment, exhausted and suffering from a pretty awful hangover. When he finally reached his room, he threw himself onto the bed and fell asleep even before hitting the comforter. He rarely dreamed, but this time, all he could see was a set of piercing blue eyes and a mess of curly blond hair.


	2. It's Like the Rush has Gone Straight to my Brain (Brad and Patrice)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brad is a young wizard with a strange knack for spells. Patrice is a wizard with a unique gift. This is what ensues when their paths cross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are diggin' the story so far! 
> 
> Title from "The Gift" by Angels & Airwaves.

          _  
_

At least half of the wizarding world hated Bradley Kevin Marchand. Sure, he was sometimes largely irresponsible and went around doing parlour tricks for his somewhat idiotic friends and yeah, he kind of liked doing magic in open places when someone told him he fucking couldn’t, but he would always put on an apologetic face and smile that goofy, lopsided grin, then everyone would forgive. Well, kinda. The Sorcerer’s Council had been keeping a wary eye on him; he could tell from the hushed tones he used when other members were sitting around the kitchen table having a meeting.

Brad’s father, an Elder, was unimpressed with his behaviour and had voiced so to Brad countless times.

“Dad, c’mon! It’s just a little fun!” Brad laughed as he bit into an apple.

“If you don’t start conducting yourself like a matured wizard, we’ll have to start treating you like an immature one. That means curfews, more restrictions, the whole shabang,” he crossed his arms and shot Brad a scowl of disapproval.

“You really can’t be serious.”  
“Try me. Your actions are a reflection of our family and specifically your mother and me. If you behave perpetually like a four year-old, we will have no choice but to treat you like one. And if that means having you supervised 24/7, then so be it.”

“You're seriously threatening me with a babysitter?!”

“You don't think I'm serious about this? Do you think your mom and I have time to manage a son who was expelled from university for irresponsible use of hexes? You’ve got quite the road to hell ahead of you,” and with a snap of his fingers, Brad’s father Disapparated.

Of course, being as prideful (and indignant) as he was, he decided to test his father’s words.

"Fuck you, you cant throw me out!" He drunkenly slurred as the bartender shoved him out the door.

"I'll do what I damn well please, Junior," the man growled, the vein on his forehead throbbing with frustration.

"I am"- he hiccuped- " twennethree years old. That's Junior Senior to you, buddy." And he threw a punch.

The bar was soon a frenzy of punches and broken bottles.

"IMPERIO!" Brad yelled and suddenly, the hockey player about to knock his teeth out released the fabric of Brad's sweatshirt, eyes glazing over in a trance-like manner.

"You're all gonna go home now and wake up with the worst hangover of your life. Then the next time you see me, you can thank me for not cursing your asses into next Sunday." After leaving a tip in the now passed out bartender's pocket, Brad ventured home to his small house in Charlestown.

The next morning, Brad awoke to the faint rumble of thunder and the soft pitter-patter of fat raindrops on his windowsill.

“Ah, fuck,” he sighed as he padded down the stairs to get a rain jacket on because someone had to bring the trashcans from the curb into the garage. Before he had a chance to unlock the front door, a massive gust of wind rattled the windowpane and a large _BANG_ came from the porch, making Brad yelp in surprise. He slowly inserted the key in the tumbler and turned the knob, the rusty hinges giving little squeaks as he carefully opened the door. Brad peered around the mahogany and saw no debris on the porch. He was sure that something must've landed there; what else could've made that noise? Brad sighed heavily, zipped up the navy coat further, and braved the elements to bring the plastic containers into the one-car garage. He was not, however, expecting the surprise visitor he was faced with when he entered the kitchen and he nearly screamed.

A man with tanned skin and a black v-neck sat poised and patient at the kitchen table, black lines of tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves.

“Who the FUCK are you?!” Brad was shaking and instinctively reached for his wand on the counter.

“Relax, Brad,” the strange man held up one hand.

“No, no, first you’re gonna tell me who the fuck you are and hope that I don’t curse your ass into the next millennium!”

“My name,” the man answered with a smooth, slightly accented voice, “is Patrice.”

“How do you know my name and what the FUCK are you doing in my house?” Brad refused to lower his wand.

“I know your name because I was assigned to “watch over you,” so to speak, by one of the Elders. Now lower the wand.”

Fuck. He HAD kept his promise. Brad reluctantly lowered his wand and gave a rather impressive eye roll.

“Ah fuck.”

“It’s your father, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, unfortunately. Listen, I’d love to shoot the shit, but I got important things to do. You can leave and tell my pop that it's real nice he's thinking of me.”

Patrice’s laugh, instead of cold and sarcastic, was hearty and good-natured. _Dammit_ , Brad thought, _this guy is like a fucking model and he’s way too damn nice. Definitely an alien_.

“I don't think you completely understand, Brad. And I'm not an alien.”

“Wait, how the fuck-?”

“Telepathy, Brad.”

“What?” it came out as a strangled whisper of bewilderment. Brad had never met a wizard who could do that. He knew there were spells that could allow him to see the thoughts and memories of others, but mind-reading? That was some majorly metaphysical shit.

“I belong to a group of Watchers. We observe and memorise everything in the world. Each of us, since before we were born, were destined to be blessed with certain gifts that, in some way, would preserve and protect the wizarding world. I was given telepathy,” Patrice shrugged like he had given this exact speech dozens, maybe hundreds, of times.

“Where you from?”

“Outside of Quebec City, in Canada.”

“Explains the accent.”

“Yes.”

“But you’re still human?” Brad asked, amazed.

“Yes.”

“So, if you’re that important, why are you here babysitting me?”

“Well, your father used to oversee my group of Watchers, so we knew each other personally. Plus, the Council had another group observing you, memorising every action, thought, and routine of yours. After they reported their findings to the Council, the Council informed the Elders. And I was appointed to you. But being your nanny wasn’t the only reason I came here.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Council seem to believe you are...gifted. Rather inept, but gifted nonetheless.”

“Gifted?” Gifted? How was he gifted? Making his sister’s sneakers vanish was a gift?

“And reckless.”

“Reck- fuck you, I’m not!”

“And stubborn. Imperius charms being cast by someone inexperienced in the field of dark magic is almost unheard of. You could be of great use to us.” Patrice proceeded to grab Brad’s wrist and tug him to the porch, “come on.”

“What- where are we going?” Brad started tugging because he’ll be damned if this guy thinks he can just fucking kidnap Brad.

“Chicago. You’re going to be of great use to us.”

“Great use to who?

“You’ll see,” Patrice smirked and reached for his broom.

 


	3. The Night Itself a Reverie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie Lack and his best friend, Katia, make an unexpected journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? Corrections? Please leave them!  
> I do not know Swedish or 90% of Latin, so shoutout to Google Translate!
> 
> Title from "My Heroine" by Angels and Airwaves.

“You are probably the slowest human being in existence,” Katia teased as she sprinted through the dense forest. To be fair, Eddie wasn’t that far behind her, maybe by five paces at most. He couldn’t help that she was inhumanly fast (frankly, it was unfair). Eddie paused for a moment, needing fresh oxygen in his lungs. He breathed in the damp air of Vancouver; it had rained  there (shocker) earlier that day, but now the sky had cleared and was giving way to an impressive sunset. Katia’s silhouette had disappeared behind a formation of rocks. Whatever, Eddie could just find her no big deal.

Since they were little, Katia would always challenge Eddie to foot races to the end of their street in Sweden. Of course, she would win. Every time. But he won sometimes, “winning” being “make the asphalt in front of Katia melt so she got stuck.” It was childish fun, nothing that their parents thought much of except a young witch and wizard discovering their talents. When they turned sixteen, though, a man showed up outside of school while Eddie and Katia bounded down the steps to Katia’s car.

“Katia Axelsson and Eddie Lack?” the two stopped dead as the man approached them. His voice wasn’t that of a Swede, or really ANY European accent whatsoever. Katia had a friend from America that visited once, but his accent wasn’t American, either.

“ _Som vill veta_?” Katia asked, her tone suspicious, “Who wants to know?”

“You are to come with me at once.”

“Where?” Eddie tried English.

“Canada. The Sorcerer’s Council requests your services at once.”

The day had finally come. Eddie didn’t know much about the Council; Katia had insisted he read about it so he would expect this to happen, but he neglected to and decided to take a poorly-timed walk through the countryside. The man grabbed Eddie and Katia and led them to an expensive-looking SUV, where they were driven to an airport.

“Wait, if you’re a wizard, why don’t we just apparate to Canada?” Eddie asked. The man didn’t respond; he shoved plane tickets and their respective passports into their hands and left immediately. Once boarded, Katia firmly grasped Eddie’s hand, reassuring him that everything would be fine.

Vancouver resembled Sweden in the fact that there was a LOT of forest. Other than that, the language, the city, the EVERYTHING, was different. Once they disembarked and grabbed their luggage, another person, a woman with flaxen hair pulled into a tight braid, led them to another car and drove off.

“ _Jag är rädd,_ ” Eddie whispered to Katia, who was sketching in a notebook.

“You do not need to be afraid. But I am surprised we got called this early,” she whispered back. They arrived at a building that resembled more of a small castle and were led inside, to a room where they were faced with five people, all sitting patiently at a mahogany table.

“Why are we here?” Katia questioned (she didn’t really step around the issue).

“You were brought here,” an elderly man with a snow-white beard spoke, “because we need your help. There has been a severe outbreak of Dark Magick in the city. Non-magic folk being killed, going missing.”

“Continue,” she prompted.

“It is vastly important that you stay within the city and protect those here,” the same woman with the braid spoke, her lips tightening into a serious expression.

“Why within the city?” Eddie asked once he found the nerve to speak.

“Because if you leave and cross another wizard or form of Dark creature, you will most certainly be killed,” a man in the corner of the room spoke. Eddie felt sick when the man talked; his voice was high and cold, almost mocking them with his words. His eyes were a cold, washed-out grey colour and his mouth contorted into a grimace-like smile, revealing a crooked, sharp set of yellowing teeth. His hair was a stringy mess of black strands that covered half of his face. Looking over to his friend, Eddie saw that Katia’s eyes had grown wide with fear. After the meeting, Katia ran. Just ran.

That was three years ago, three relatively peaceful years. Recently, the number of killings had skyrocketed, even with the help of their mentors, Kevin and Alex. They needed to get reinforcements, ones that they had no idea on how to find. Eddie continued sprinting to find Katia among the cedars of southern Canada.

“Katia?” he yelled. No response. He bolted past the rock formation and into a clearing, where Katia had stopped, almost frozen.

“What?” Eddie had stopped by now and hesitantly peered over Katia’s shoulder.

“I was thinking” she replied in a distant manner. As he stepped to her side, Eddie suddenly felt like he had run into a wall. His vision didn’t become one of Canadian forest, but rather a room full of people, people that were mostly obscured by shadow. Except their eyes. They were all speaking in hushed voices, almost as if they were discussing a strategy. One person was female- he could tell by the tone of voice- and was giving harsh looks with bright green eyes to another person, a man, across the table. The person next to the man glared at her, his blue eyes returning an icy stare.

“Eddie?” she shook him, gripping his shoulders firmly.

“I saw something.”

“You what?” she gasped, now fully concerned.

“It...it was like looking into a dimly-lit room. I couldn’t see faces, but there were probably a dozen or so people talking like they were in trouble. It felt like I was… a part of it or something.”

“I saw something, too. In my dreams last night.”

“What did you see?”

“Skyscrapers. A lake. And I could feel the wind. Vancouver or wherever we are now isn’t safe anymore. The man in the Council meeting- remember him?- there was something really off about him. The way he talked about murders of innocent people like it actually brought him _joy_.I think we need to get someplace safe. A place with the rest of our people. There has to be a North American gang of wizards, right?"

"How do we find them?"

"I think my dream was a map or a guide for us to find them. Here, I'll show you,” Katia said as she wrote words into a journal- wind, city, lake, magic.

By now the sun was almost completely set, casting the last sliver of orange light through the trees. Katia had taken her ebony wand out of her back pocket and waited till absolute nightfall before casting.

“ _Declaro_ ,” she whispered as she pointed the tip of the wand at the piece of paper. A purple light emitted from the wand and encircled the words on the page. Slowly, a final word appeared on the very bottom of the small piece of paper.

“What’s it say?” Eddie whispered as he glanced over Katia’s shoulder.

“It says… _Chicago_. We need to get to Chicago.”

Suddenly, Katia and Eddie were running again, this time not further into the woods, but to the edge of a small lake.

“ _Fan_ ,” she said, panting heavily, “we need to get across the lake and into Washington.”

Eddie carefully removed his wand from his jacket sleeve.

“ _Commitunt_ ,” the two jumped in. He felt like he was in a tidal wave, spinning about and being thrown around like a piece of driftwood in a tsunami. When the feeling stopped, Eddie realised that they were in the middle of a field, and he could see a stretch of road about a quarter mile north.

“Katia?!” he yelled frantically.

“ _Ja_?” she responded, only a few feet behind where he landed.

“Look,” he pointed a slender finger toward the strip of asphalt across the field, “there’s a road.”

The two sprinted across the field to the cracked asphalt road, where an old pickup truck was winding through the curves.

“Stop!” Eddie called and waved his arms frantically. The driver halted, rolling his window down.

“Can I help you folks?” he smiled revealing a missing tooth.

“Um, where exactly are we?”

“This is Elizabethtown, Kentucky, population 30,000!” the driver laughed as if it was the most ridiculous question ever asked.

“How do we get to Chicago?” Katia shoved Eddie aside.

“Take 65 North to I-90, then merge onto 290 and you’re there.”

“Could you take us?”

“I have money,” Eddie offered, and then whispered to Katia, “ _zahlen_. Money spell.”

The next five hours were spent with Eddie and Katia crammed into the back of an old Ford, country music blaring.


	4. Carry Us Back To Shore (Chris/ Brandon and Andrew)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thought he buried the life of magic and wizardry. Unfortunately for Chris Kreider, it's not that easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE CHAPTER IS FINALLY FINISHED! This is probably the toughest one I've had to write thus far because writing about individuals seems more difficult than writing with a "group dynamic." This is actually the longest too so far with 1640 words, but I think it's worth it. This story is going to be constantly edited, so if it doesn't make sense now, it will in the future! This is actually the chapter that scratches the surface even more. More characters to be added!

          Chris refused to speak to anybody about it. His wand remained untouched, the box gathering dust on the highest shelf of his bookcase. In the month that had followed Olivier’s death, Chris had shut himself out from the world. Being the assistant captain of his high school hockey team was the only constant in his life. His parents, if he was lucky enough to see them, were overworked in trying to make sure that he was happy and safe; Chris had told them about Olivier and since then, they had been walking on eggshells and trying their damndest to keep him stable and happy.

          _He remembers the night clearly. He and Olivier had finished a lesson on protection spells in a clearing deep in a forest somewhere outside of the Berkshires. Secluded, quiet, the raw energy of the moon fueling both of their abilities. Both men were headed out, back to Olivier’s beater Chevy Impala, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark shadow dart from behind a large elm and into a dense thornbush. Suddenly, the friendly September evening had turned...sinister._

_“Do you feel that?” Olivier whispered, his fingers curling around his aspen wand instinctively. Chris nodded, drawing his own cypress wand from his jacket. A low growl echoed throughout the clearing, the sound so chilling it sent shivers up Chris’ spine._

_“I don’t know what-”_

_Suddenly, a creature leapt out of the bushes in front of them._

_“Shit,” Olivier muttered under his breath._

_“What the fuck?!” Chris gasped and stumbled back. The creature was wolf-like, baring razor-sharp teeth that caught the moonlight and shone like daggers; it honestly could have been something out of a fucking Bela Lugosi movie for all Chris knew. The beast arched its back menacingly and started to step toward him._

_“Thuathail, this doesn’t concern him!” Olivier said, voice forceful, "I’m the rebel here, not this boy!”_

_Chris gasped as the creature reared up on its hind legs, standing at least a foot and a half taller than he, who measured in at six-foot-something._

_“Get out of here. Take the keys, drive back to Boxford. Everything will be alright, okay?”_

"But-"

_"LISTEN TO ME AND FUCKING GO!"_

_And Chris went. He dodged the low-hanging branches of the towering pine trees and only tripped once over a horribly-placed boulder. Behind him, he could only hear Olivier's shrieks of pain that became more strangled and garbled as the beast (Thuathail, he’d remember that as long as he continued to breathe) continued its gruesome attack. He finally made it back to the Impala and fumbled to start it, his nerves and muscles short-circuiting from adrenaline and fear. The car roared to life and Chris peeled out of the dirt parking lot, not once bothering to glance back._

 

          Since then, Chris had sworn off magic completely. His cypress wand with unicorn tail hair core had been shoved in a cedar box, all the correspondences between him and Olivier in a cardboard one under his bed. He knew that the wizarding world had led him to Olivier, and Olivier to certain death. Now, the only “magic” in Chris’ life was freshly-sharpened skates on a clean sheet of ice. Practice had become a way for Chris to shove his previous life in a dark corner, one where he couldn’t access it even if he had the urge to reach it again.

Or so he thought.

“Kreids!” JT shouted to him one day after practice, “Yo, wait up!”

Chris turned around to see him jogging across the parking lot.

“Yeah?”

“You doin’ anything tonight? I was...um..I was wondering if maybe you wanted to hang out?” JT asked, chewing his lower lip, “I mean, you’ve been kinda down and I just..well, like, maybe we need some friend time, y’know?”

“Yeah, uh, yeah!” Chris smiled easily. He knew that he had been neglecting to keep any sort of friendship with anybody since Olivier’s death and JT was one of his oldest friends, so he thought he owed the guy at least a night of video games and throwing Cheetos at each other while they watched Family Guy.

When JT showed up though, Chris was awkward. He made idle conversation where words were few. Finally, JT had suggested they watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail in the living room because they both could quote the movie word for word. Halfway through the Camelot song, he had noticed that Chris was staring absently at his phone and not singing along.

“Dude, are you okay?” JT said softly as he paused the movie.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just…”

Chris had tried to avoid the living room at all costs; it reminded him of the days when Olivier and him would curl up on the couch and tell each other stories of magical mishaps. Sometimes, Kreider would even ask him to speak French when he talked about his life in Nantes. It was the happiest Chris had felt…

He didn’t know he was crying until JT was closer to him, resting his hand comfortingly on his shoulder.

“Chris? Do you want me to go?”

Instead of telling JT to leave, he folded his arms in closely to his chest and violently shook his head in protest.

“No.”

“It’s okay, bud,” Miller hugged him, rubbing his back, “I won’t leave you.”

          The next night, Chris decided to look through his box of letters he and Olivier had written while they were separated, Chris at hockey tournaments and Olivier at meetings with the Sorcerers’ Council. Chris picked up a rather aged and tattered piece of parchment and began to read.

_Christopher,_

_I’ve been informed that you are my new mentee. For the next year, I will be aiding you in the process of refining your magic and using it wisely. As you may have guessed, our world is experiencing a shift, a change in the winds, so to speak. I will be meeting with you on the thirteenth of March to begin your training to become a mature wizard in control of your magic. I assume you have not chosen your wand; therefore, we will travel to Boston, where you will be able to find a wand. You will not be required to attend wizard finishing school, although you may choose to do so, if you wish. I look forward to meeting you._

_Warm regards,_

_Olivier Belgarde_

Chris tossed the letter to his side and picked up another one, dated six weeks before his death, scrawled on a crumpled piece of notebook paper.

_I’m not sure how long I will be able to stay with you. While the Death Eaters have disbanded, another group has formed, one far more dangerous. And they will stop at nothing to kill you. If they ever come for me, you will need to leave immediately._

_-O.B_

He dug through more random notes until he reached one scribbled onto the corner of a page ripped from a collection of Edgar Allen Poe’s short stories. It was dated two nights before his death.

_They’ve started tracking me. Need to go out west. Resistance members in Chicago. Bonne chance._

A shiver snaked its way up Chris’ back, making him jump slightly; he’d almost forgotten about the letter (not that he particularly wanted to remember it) and the sinking, dark feeling that arose in the pit of his stomach. It was only made worse when Chris immediately became acutely aware of the dark figure that hovered outside of his bedroom window. He reached for his wand on the shelf because fuck, he didn’t learn summoning spells yet, when the glass pane shattered and something crashed to the floor with a loud SLAM. He froze. Oh my god, I’m going to die.

“I’m not gonna kill you, relax,” a voice behind him said, almost annoyed. Chris turned toward the shattered glass slowly, where he came face to face with a short, brown-haired man, brown eyes twinkling mischievously in the dim light of Chris’ bedroom.

“Why the fuck should I trust YOU?” he had grabbed a little league trophy on the lower shelf of the bookcase and gripped it firmly until his knuckles turned white.

“Because it was in the instructions, you dumb shit. Now let’s get a move on!” the man motioned out the window into the sky.

“Where the fuck-”

Suddenly, a loud screech echoed through the sky, making Chris jump.

“Brandon, will you keep your fucking gryffon QUIET,” the shorter man yelled, “Get your damn wand and get on!” Chris finally reached the wooden box containing the wand and carefully climbed out of the window, where the stranger had joined another man with a thick, scruffy beard and a full sleeve of tattoos, both straddling a large bird-looking animal that was perched on the eve of his front porch.

“What IS this thing?”

“God, so many questions. Get on and I’ll explain!”

Chris hesitated.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” the bearded man rolled his eyes, “ _provoco_.” Chris suddenly was being tugged onto the back of the creature.

“Hold on, dude,” the stranger called to Chris over his shoulder. The bird-like animal spread its golden wings and the three took off into the moonlit night.

“Who the fuck are you guys? What the fuck is this thing? Where the fuck are we going?” Chris huffed impatiently while they flew over a lake.

“You were right, Andrew. He asks waaaaaay too many questions,” the tattooed man laughed.

“Right. I’m Andrew and the bearded idiot in front of us is Brandon. And this,” he patted the creature’s soft down, “is Aildor, Brandon’s gryffon. Yes, they’re real. No, they’re not hippogriffs.”

“I’m-”

“Chris, yes we know.”

Chris nodded. Andrew took that as the hint to go on.

“And we are headed to home base in Chicago. Ya know, HQ. Resistance and all that good shit.”

“Resistance?”

"Jesus, did your mentor teach you nothing? Or are you just dumb? Yes, resistance! Something's coming for us and we've gotta fight it before it wipes out everything we hold sacred," Andrew finished grimly.

"Oh, come off it. Stop being so dramatic! We're gonna stop this thing, easy," Chris could practically hear Brandon rolling his eyes.

The three sat in silence as Aildor glided through the cloudless night sky.

“One more question,” Chris spoke up. Andrew turned to look behind him at the teenager.

“Yeah?”

“You said you had ‘instructions’ to pick me up. From who?”

Andrew paused and drew a few deep breaths.

“Olivier.”

****  
  



	5. There’s a Field Near the Dream (Reilly and Torey)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reilly can't stand Torey's existence. Then he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took me so long to finish. I was busy having a breakdown about Ryan Callahan being traded. I will reiterate what I said on Twitter: "[screams in misery] I HATE TRADE DEADLINE"

          Saying that Reilly Smith was annoyed by Torey Krug was the understatement of the century. Every day, that smug asshole came into his practice room in the music hallway of BHS, touched his instruments, and invited his fucking posse to watch him do so. Reilly was furious, but never dared to tell Torey that is was his shit. It’s not like Reilly can just waltz up to an assistant captain of the hockey team and say, “Piss off.” It just didn’t work that way.

“Dude, you gotta speak up,” Reilly’s brother, Brendan, said as he dug through the fridge, “If he’s playing your guitar, then you gotta be like, ‘Bro, fuck off,’ know what I mean?”

“Ugh, it’s just frustrating and I'm too chickenshit for it,” Reilly sighed as he took another spoonful of peanut butter from the half-gone jar of Skippy.

“True," Reilly shot him a scowl, "Want me to put a curse on the doorway? He’d learn not to fuck around in there.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I just…I wish I was a wizard, too. It sucks, y’know?”

“Well, little brother, we can’t all be awesome like me,” Reilly rolled his eyes as Brendan made a ridiculous pose.

“Whatever, dude,” he stabbed his spoon further into the thick spread, “You’ve got hockey, Rory’s got lacrosse, and literally everyone can do magic like a fucking pro. And then there’s me, like, I’m not special.“

“Reilly, you’re auditioning for Berklee in a month. If you weren’t special, why the fuck bother? You’re a great musician and that,” Brendan pressed a finger to Reilly’s chest, “is more fucking important than all the magic in the world.”

          The next day, Reilly arrived at school earlier, toting a thick, plastic guitar case and a messy notebook filled with sheets of etudes, scales, and blank staff paper just itching to be written on. He retrieved the key, unlocked it, and entered the empty room. Reilly loved the practice room; it sat at the end of the hallway in an alcove, away from the choir and band room. The entire school was full of athletes, so they mostly left the music hallway untouched. It was built with inviting cherry floors with bookshelves on three of the walls, all of which contained everything from Broadway and movie soundtrack scores to texts on musical theory to biographies of the greatest musicians of all time. It was where Reilly could find some peace and quiet in his life, where he could keep a few guitars and maybe a keyboard or two. It had a certain magic to it that not even the most powerful wizard in the world could emulate. 

“‘You’re special, Reilly!’ Whatever,” he mocked Brendan’s words and stuck out his tongue as he unlatched the locks on the velvet-interior case. Inside was one of his most prized possessions- a Kremona classical guitar, straight from Bulgaria. Reilly planted himself on a stool and began plucking away, the notes practically painting the space around him in vibrant colours, almost  _dancing_ -

“Yeah, so like I just figured out this cool thing where I can make the lights go out in my room,” Reilly lost concentration completely and his hand skittered across the fretboard, the guitar ultimately sliding from his lap and crashing to the floor. _Torey_.

“Duuuuude, that’s rad,” the door to the practice room swung open as Torey and a couple of his friends entered. Reilly wasn’t sure what to do: scream? Hit someone?  _If only I was a wizard_. He noticed the varnish had cracked, spiderwebbing from the lower portion of the body to the bridge.

“Oh. Didn’t realise-” Ryan, he recognised him from anatomy class, stuttered as Reilly’s hands clenched into tight fists.

“No, of fucking course you didn’t,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Dude, don’t you have any friends? You’re literally always alone,” another friend scoffed.

“C’mon Reilly, I wanna be your friend!”

“Get out. Don’t wanna be friends with you dicks.”

And then he heard a fucking laugh. Torey stood there, arms crossed, chuckling.

“Okay Matt, he doesn’t wanna be friends with us. Let’s go.”

“Oh come on, Torey, we’re just having fun! Oooh, what do we have here?” the guy, Matt, walked toward Reilly and picked up the damaged acoustic, plucking at the strings.

“Get your FUCKING hands off my guitar!” Reilly stood up, the stool knocking to the floor behind him. The lights in the practice room started flickering as Reilly’s fists shook with rage.

“Dude, calm down,” Matt sounded scared. Good.

“You come into MY practice room, touch MY shit, all because you shitheads think you just CAN? I’m not gonna calm down, and I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“I don’t-” Ryan began.

“GET OUT,” a jar of reeds that rested on the counter near the door suddenly flew across the room and shattered as it slammed against the wall, only inches from Matt’s head.

“Man, FUCK this!” he sprinted out of the room, Ryan close behind. The only person who didn’t move was Torey.

          “Did you not fucking hear me? Leave,” Reilly snarled, hands still clenched into fists.

“I heard you. Turns out I was right,” Torey crossed his arms tightly to his chest and leaned on the soundproofed walls.

“About what?”

“About you.”

The muscles in Reilly’s neck and shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly.

“What? That I fucking hate you and your friends? Or that I really fucking hate you and your friends?” he said bitterly.

“Here,” Torey moved to where Reilly’s classical guitar lay on the ground, varnish chipped and strings out of tune. His wand was already out, but he didn’t seem to be pointing it at the taller boy. Instead, it was pointed to the cracked edge of the acoustic.

“ _Episky_ ,” a spell that Reilly had heard from his parents’ mouths when they were fixing Brendan’s various broken nose injuries was whispered by Torey. With a crack, the damaged varnish disappeared. Reilly deflated instantly, letting out a long-suffering sigh of exasperation.

“Um…thanks,” he wasn’t sure how exactly to respond.

“Now,” Torey turned back to him, “about you. What the shit was that that you just did?”

“I...I don’t know. I just got so mad and…”

“Here,” Torey handed him his wand, “try this.”

“What do you want me to do with this? I’m not a fucking wizard,” Reilly rolled his eyes, voice thick with sarcasm.

“Fucking hell, Smith! JUST DO WHAT I FUCKING SAY!”

“Jesus, okay,” Reilly reluctantly took it, “What do you want me to do?”

“Point it at that chair and think of a spell.”

“What?”

“Dude, Brendan’s a wizard. Do NOT tell me you went through your entire life so far without hearing a spell uttered from his mouth.”

“Uh...okay,” Reilly lifted the wand so it pointed at the chair, “ _incurvo_.”

The chair began to cave in on itself, the metal legs bending as if made by pipe cleaners.

“Holy shit,” Reilly whispered, the chair now resembling a grotesque soccer ball.

“Told you,” Torey crossed his arms and smirked.

“So...what do I do now?”

“Well,” he sighed, “we gotta get you a wand. And we gotta leave tomorrow.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, LEAVE? What makes you think I’m going ANYWHERE with you? And even if I did, where the fuck are two seniors in high school gonna go?!”

“Here,” Torey reached into his backpack and produced a crumpled piece of parchment paper.

“Torey,” he read off the parchment, “You’re needed. Please leave for Chicago ASAP. -PB”

“What does this have to do with me?” Reilly locked eyes with Torey.

“It means,” he slung his backpack over his shoulder, “pack your shit. We leave tonight.”

“We can’t just fucking DRIVE there.”

“Who said anything about driving? We’re going by Portkey.”


End file.
